


Let's Do Some Living After We Die

by threemeows



Series: Wild Horses [5]
Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: Bleh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 19:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threemeows/pseuds/threemeows
Summary: It's Thanksgiving break, and Lara Jean is finally coming home.It’s not like she hasn’t seen her entire family in about three months.Or her boyfriend.And – and, it’s only been three hours and twenty-one minutes. Twenty-two.(Twenty-three.)





	Let's Do Some Living After We Die

**Author's Note:**

> Movie-verse with book-verse thrown in. Blah blah blah. Takes place after Graceless Lady.

For probably the eight hundredth time today, Lara Jean checks her phone.

 

No text means that Dad is still on his way - he wouldn’t drive and text. He’d always said he’d done an ER rotation back in the day and saw too many distracted driving victims to warn him off the practice for good. So Lara Jean knows better than to pepper him with a flurry of annoying texts asking how much longer he thinks he’ll be.

 

She could call - he has bluetooth in his car. But again - that would just be annoying. There is literally no rush. No rush at all.

 

It’s not like she hasn’t seen her entire family in about three months.

 

Or her boyfriend.

 

And – and, it’s only been three hours and twenty-one minutes. Twenty-two.

 

(Twenty-three.)

 

She’d looked at Waze. The drive from home to her dorm is exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes. That’s with traffic. (And there miraculously was none, the last time she checked. Ten minutes ago.) And that’s also assuming Dad left directly from the house, rather than his office, which would actually make it three hours and seventeen minutes. And that’s also assuming Dad left from the house, not the hospital, which would then make it three hours and twelve minutes. Dad hadn’t said where he left from - just a happy, “Just got into the car! See you soon honey!!!,” followed by a bunch of celebration emojis.

 

Annoyingly cryptic.

 

Lara Jean could text Kitty and ask. But she doesn’t want to alert Kitty to how terribly anxious she’s feeling right now. Lara Jean’s on such an edge, hopping up and down on her heels, her bright yellow sunflower duffel bag slung on her shoulders despite its weight, that she’s pretty sure if Kitty were to dig for information or tease her she’d throw her phone against the dorm wall.

 

So instead she paces the walkway, looking up every time she hears a car speed by.

 

Oh god. What if one of his patients suddenly went into labor? What if he had to turn back home? Or what if he got into a car accident?

 

Gulping, Lara Jean takes her phone out of her coat pocket. She’s about to unlock it when it buzzes. _Dad!_

 

“Daddy?”

 

“Hey! You just waiting around for me or what?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Look up!”

 

Lara Jean does, and grins. Dad’s in the SUV, across the street, waving at her. She hangs up and dashes forward. “Daddy!”

 

He gets out and gives her the biggest bear hug of her life. The whiff of his aftershave overtakes her and Lara Jean swallows back the sting of happy tears. They text all the time and she’s always FaceTiming home, but she’s missed her father so much. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?”

 

“Great!” she chirps, stepping back to look at him. He looks ... different, somehow. Then she catches him looking at her and she says, “What?”

 

“Nothing. Just looking at my middle girl,” he says, smiling. He takes her duffel from her. “Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want to get caught in all this holiday traffic.”

 

“Busiest travel day of the year,” they recite together, and Lara Jean grins and hops into the passenger seat as Dad opens the trunk.

 

While he’s putting her stuff away, Lara Jean opens up her phone, starts typing in a text.

 

_ETA officially 3 hrs 27 min._

 

His reply is comes a few seconds later - a love-eyes emoji, followed quickly by a _Safe drive!_

 

Lara Jean pockets her phone and takes a deep breath, buckling into her seat with a much more relaxed smile on her face.

 

“All ready for your first Thanksgiving back home as a college student?” Dad says as he buckles in.

 

 _Am I ever!_ Lara Jean wants to shout, but she simply nods, grinning.

 

Dad gives her a knowing, side-long look as he pulls into traffic.

 

*

 

When Lara Jean had FaceTimed Peter last week for their nightly call, she’d found him petulant and sulking. Peter’s Econ professor was apparently Satan and hadn’t canceled the Wednesday before Thanksgiving class. By the time he’d get out, get back to his home to grab his car, and drive down to UNC to get her for the holiday break, they wouldn’t get back home until Wednesday evening. Their original plan of him driving down Tuesday night and staying the night so they could drive up together Wednesday morning was shot.

 

Lara Jean had quickly managed to get Dad to take the day off on Wednesday and retrieve her. But Peter was still pissed.

 

“I’d just wanted to be the one to get you,” he’d said. “This is bullshit.”

 

Lara Jean knew he was more mad that he’d skipped two classes already due to accidentally sleeping in both times and couldn’t risk skipping another. Also, probably missing out on the opportunity to spend the night – something they also haven’t done since he took her to see the meteor shower, right before she’d left for college.

 

As for herself, she’d been disappointed, but didn’t want to further sour Peter’s mood. She kept a brave face and told him it would be okay. They’d have practically all of Wednesday afternoon and night together - then Peter would stop by for a little of Thanksgiving dinner - then the rest of the weekend would be entirely theirs.

 

And, now, driving up with Dad, both of them singing off-tune to the _My Fair Lady_ soundtrack - she’s kind of glad it worked out this way. Because as much as she’s missed Peter, she’s missed her family too.

 

“So level with me,” Dad says, pausing the music. “How’s school?”

 

“Great,” she says, seriously. “I’m – it’s been really good, Dad. I’m glad I went here.”

 

“I’m glad too, honey,” he says, patting her hand.

 

Eventually, the highway begins to look familiar. When she sees the exit for their town, Lara Jean’s heart skips. She unlocks her phone and sees Peter’s already texted her, about five minutes ago – _You here yet?_

 

 _Just got off the highway,_ she texts back.

 

 _I’m at the grocery store with Mom,_ he replies. _Still getting stuff. Lines look like hell._

_Ouch. Sorry._

_When we get outta here can I come over?_

“Can Peter come over?” she asks Dad.

 

Dad snorts. “I’m surprised you waited this long to ask,” he chides good-naturedly. “Yes, of course.”

 

“Oh! Yeah! And he’s stopping by for part of Thanksgiving,” Lara Jean adds, sheepish.

 

Dad laughs.

 

*

 

The front door cracks open right after Lara Jean slams the car door shut. All of a sudden, a ball of bright fuzzy aqua sweater flies at her. “Oh my god,” Lara Jean gasps, choking. _She’s taller than me._ How did that happen? _When_ did that happen?

 

“Lara Jean!” Kitty squeals, squeezing even harder.

 

“H-hi,” Lara Jean says, extricating herself. Yup, definitely taller now. And – oh no. _She’s got boobs._

“I missed you!”

 

“I missed you too,” Lara Jean says, hugging her again, although she’s still floored.

 

Trina’s in the kitchen, working on something at the island. She rushes over to give her a hug. “So I figured we’ll be pigging out all day tomorrow,” she says, “and thought maybe something light for lunch is a good idea. Sandwiches okay?”

 

“Don’t worry, just about the only thing she makes that’s good,” Dad says, jokingly. Trina elbows him.

 

“It sounds fantastic,” Lara Jean says, looking around. Everything looks the same – Trina’s stuff mixed in with theirs – but they’ve rearranged some of the furniture again. The shift is subtle, but there . . . and strangely, irrevocable. Idly, she wonders if Margot felt like this when she first came home to visit.

 

Margot FaceTimes to make sure she got home okay, and to eat her dinner while they eat lunch. Everybody’s chatting about plans - tomorrow, Dad’s going to grab Grandma while Lara Jean starts on dinner. Margot and other American students are going to have a turkey dinner with all the trimmings at someone’s flat, and Ravi is coming along too.

 

All through lunch Lara Jean checks her phone.

 

_There are no potatoes left. Mom is about to blow._

_Found some potatoes. They don’t look too hot._

_Haha. Hot potato. Get it?_

_Fuck now she’s after green beans. Why. I just want to get out of here._

_Send help._

 

 _Great_ , Lara Jean thinks glumly, even as she texts him an encouraging, _Don’t worry! You’ll be here soon._

 

“Is it Peter?” Trina asks, as Kitty and Dad talk with Margot.

 

“He’s tied up at the grocery store,” Lara Jean says, putting the phone away.

 

Trina winks at her affectionately. “Don’t sweat it. Sometimes, the anticipation is the best part.”

 

After lunch, Dad and Trina decide to go for a walk with the dogs, and Lara Jean goes upstairs with her bag. She’d wanted to change into something cute for Peter, but she has to get started on the Thanksgiving desserts - there’s simply too much to do tomorrow if she waits to do desserts then. So she throws on Peter’s old Adler High lacrosse hoodie and some leggings and heads back downstairs.

 

In the kitchen, though, she’s quickly flummoxed. All her equipment and tools have been rearranged. It takes her forever to find the good KitchenAid stand mixer - someone had put it in the closet. And she has to call Kitty to find out where her favorite spatula and wooden spoon are.

 

“I guess they must’ve thrown them out,” Kitty says, biting her lip, as they search the kitchen.

 

“They? You mean Dad? Trina?”

 

“Yeah, they just figured - you know - you weren’t here, baking all the time ... Are you mad?”

 

“No! No I’m not ... I’m just ...” It’s hard to explain. “Never mind. How am I supposed to make apple pie or pumpkin spice cupcakes without all my stuff?”

 

“You can’t use these?” Kitty asks, brandishing the regular spatula and wooden spoon that they use to cook meals.

 

“No! They don’t have the nice rubber grips.” She chews on her thumbnail. They sell them at the grocery store. She could ask ... but at this rate, he’ll never get here. “Well ... when in Rome ...”

 

 _It’s not the same_ , she thinks, despondent, as she starts on the cupcakes. Her whole game is off. It’s like trying to ride a bike with a slightly loose pedal. You can still do it but the rhythm is different.

 

The bell rings and Lara Jean jumps - Peter? But there’s no way, he’d texted that they only just got in line. And it’s not him, but instead a gaggle of Kitty’s 8th grade friends, here to spend today’s early school dismissal painting nails and watching movies.

 

 _Oh god, Brielle is taller than me too, now_ , Lara Jean realizes, after the girl skips into the kitchen to say hi and grab a Capri Sun from the fridge. Shaking her head, Lara Jean goes back to spooning cupcake mix into the paper cups.

 

She’s just taken the cupcakes out of the oven to cool and started mixing the dough for the apple pie crust when her phone buzzes. _Out! Gotta help Mom unload then I’ll be over._

 

 _Shit!_ Lara Jean wipes her hands on her apron, frantically looking at everything. She’s covered in flour. She’d picked out an entire outfit that’s hanging in her closet right now.

 

As quickly as she can, Lara Jean starts kneading the dough as if her life depends on it – divides in half and flattens both pieces into two discs for the base and top. Then she grabs the Saran Wrap, messes it up because of course she never pulls it out and tears it correctly, and pulls out another two sheets in panic. She wraps the discs as best she can, and fairly throws them into the fridge.

 

“Kitty can you help me clean please?” she begs, running back and forth around the kitchen.

 

“Why? You did all that,” Kitty calls from the living room.

 

“Peter’s coming!”

 

“So? He’s not gonna care.”

 

“Peter? As in Peter Kavinsky?” one of the girls squeaks.

 

“Yeah, they’re dating,” Kitty says, matter-of-factly.

 

“ _Ohhhh_ oh my god!” The girls start screaming.

 

Lara Jean rolls her eyes.

 

“What? I told you all this before!” Kitty says, exasperated. “He’s here like, every other week!”

 

“He’s here every other _week_?!” one girl gawks.

 

“We never got to see him before! In your _house_!” Brielle hisses.

 

Lara Jean pauses, struck by an ingenious thought. “The house that needs cleaning,” she says, innocently enough.

 

All of a sudden she’s inundated with volunteers to help. Kitty stays at the sectional, nonplussed, while all her friends leap to Lara Jean’s assistance. Kitty yells periodically, “It’s just Peter!” and “You’re just gonna make another mess when you have to make the rest the of the pie!” but they all ignore her.

 

There is yet another shrieking swell of commotion at the knock on the door - Lara Jean, in the middle of wiping down the island, jumps, and before she can think of anything - _do_ anything - Peter’s suddenly in the house.

 

“Yello?” he says from the living room - and oh god! she is a _mess_ and he looks so handsome - and she drops the damp sponge on the island with a plop and dashes behind (the thankfully taller than her now) Brielle.

 

“Ew, you again,” Kitty says, from the couch.

 

“Gross, it’s you,” Peter says, ruffling her hair. There are a couple of shocked gasps. He pauses, looks at the girls grouped all around the island - Lara Jean can’t quite seem to meet his eyes. He shoves his hand into the pockets of his blue UVA sweatshirt. “Uh, hey - um, everyone.”

 

A chorus of shy hellos - everyone seems to have lost their senses.

 

 _What is wrong with me?!_ she thinks. She’s been looking forward to this moment since ... since forever. And suddenly it’s here and it isn’t what she’d imagined at all and now she doesn’t know what to do.

 

Except hide. Hiding’s good.

 

Peter peers at her. “You gonna say hello?” he laughs, a little nervously.

 

The girls part like the Red Sea. Suddenly exposed, Lara Jean takes a deep breath, and steps forward. “I thought - I don’t know - Icantbelieveyourefinallyhere,” she mumbles in a rush, still not meeting his gaze, and kind of just falls onto his chest.

 

There’s a chorus of “awwws” and “that’s sooooo cutes” and Kitty says, annoyed, from the couch, “Okay okay give them some room, people,” and somehow convinces all of them to go to Olivia’s house instead and oh my god, Lara Jean may actually love her little sister now.

 

She doesn’t lift her head, even after the noise dies down and the front door clicks shut.

 

She can hear the clock ticking from the hall, feel Peter’s steady breathing beneath her cheek. Lara Jean closes her eyes. He must be able to hear how fast her heart is beating.

 

“Hey. What’s the matter?” Peter nuzzles her hair.

 

“Nothing. Nothing,” she mumbles. She’s being stupid and silly and childish and dumb. She takes a deep breath to quell her nerves, then pauses, realizing. “You smell different,” she says, still into his chest.

 

“Huh?” He sounds almost sleepy, dream-like. “I guess. I forgot my deodorant at school. Grabbed one at the store. Didn’t even check which one it was. Is it bad?”

 

“No.” Not at all. It’s just ... not him. Not her Peter. Suddenly she’s babbling, “It’s just I’ve been gone three months and everything’s changed and everything’s different and my dad may have thrown out my favorite baking spatula and spoon and Trina rearranged even more stuff in the house and Kitty _my god_ Kitty is _taller_ than me now and she has _boobs_ -“

 

“Whoa, can we not talk about your little sister having boobs -“

 

“ - And you smell different!!! Everything is different and it’s freaking me out and nothing has happened the way I’ve wanted it to today and gaaaaaahhhhh!”

 

“Okay, Covey. Let’s just -“ He gently grabs her wrists - she’s plastered her hands to her red face. Finally, she looks up at him. He smiles at her, sheepish, gentle. Also with a note of “what the fuck just happened” and suddenly he’s her Peter again, even if he doesn’t smell the same.

 

“I had this whole thing in my head,” she grumbles. “Aly would’ve already gone back to her parents’. We’d crash at my dorm.” She blushes even harder, leaving out the part that also would’ve happened - that hasn’t happened since they watched the meteor shower, the night before she left for college. “Have a great big pancake breakfast together the next morning. There’s this place just a ten minute walk from my dorm –”

 

“Sounds nice,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing gently, side to side, on the pulse points of both her wrists - they’ve linked hands now, just looking at each other.

 

“And when we’d get home ...” she shrugs her shoulders, looking away. “I don’t know what I thought. That time would stop? That’s so silly. Kitty’s taller than me Peter. She has -“

 

“Please don’t say boobs,” Peter winces.

 

“Sorry.” She shakes her head. “She’s growing up and I’m not here.” She frowns at him. “You’re changing your deodorant and I’m not here.”

 

“I will be sure to request your permission in the future,” he says, very seriously.

 

She smiles at him, a little sadly. “It’s not that. You’re changing. I’m changing. It’s ... I guess I started wondering ...”

 

She scrunches her lips up. She shouldn’t say it.

 

“Hey. We tell each other the truth, remember?”

 

Right. The contract.

 

“If everything changed ... If everything is different, from when I went away ... Then what about us? Would you feel differently? Would we feel different?”

 

“Well ... yeah. Sure. But. Different isn’t necessarily bad, Covey.” He puts her hand over his heart, holds there - rubs his thumb over her fingers. “This? Won’t change, though.”

 

She feels her heart roll over and under. “When did you get so smart?” she asks softly, rubbing the UVA logo on his chest.

 

“I’m a college man, now, baby,” he smarms. They both chuckle. “Well ... speaking of changes. You know what I only just found out? Even though I come home every few weeks?”

 

“What?”

 

“Owen’s got a girlfriend,” he sing-songs, with a big cheesy grin.

 

“What?! Owen?! Quiet little Owen ...”

 

“Yup. Yup, he’s dating some chick in his pre-algebra class. I don’t know anything about her. He’s bringing her over sometime this weekend.” His grin widens. “I’m gonna give them so much shit! Ha!”

 

Lara Jean pauses thoughtfully. “I wonder if Kitty has one. A boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, I guess.”

 

“Well don’t worry, he’ll have to go through me.” Peter pauses. “Or she. Whatever. Wait. Is it less sexist to not threaten her or more sexist to threaten her?”

 

“Why are we debating threatening my sister’s hypothetical girlfriend?”

 

“Because its distracting you from your bad mood. And.” He nuzzles her nose. “It’s.” Another swipe of his nose against hers. Lara Jean giggles. “Working.”

 

They start swaying in the kitchen together, foreheads touching, to the beat of a silent song. In Lara Jean’s head it’s _Let’s Stay Together_ and she doesn’t have to wonder if it’s the same, for Peter.

 

“You gonna kiss me hello now or what?” he murmurs, so lowly she thinks she must’ve imagined it, except she rises a little further on tiptoe, and kisses him.

 

What if it’s different - kissing him now? After not kissing him for months? Not seeing him for months except on FaceTime?

 

And it is different. But it’s also better. Because she hasn’t kissed him in so long. Because it’s almost like it’s new again, her heart rising and then plummeting, melting into a delicious warmth all over her as she presses her lips against his, runs her tongue along his teeth - feels his hands delve underneath her sweatshirt, heated fingers dancing on her spine and sides.

 

“Missed you,” she murmurs, into his neck, when she can finally breathe again.

 

“Same,” he says, and his voice has gone low and gravely - and that hasn’t changed, his tell that he’s hot and wanting her. She hides her knowing grin in his chest.

 

“My dad’ll be back any second.”

 

“I figured.” He’s got one hand on her hip, tracing circular patterns with his thumb. The other hand’s knuckles are brushing up and down her stomach, underneath her sweatshirt - not quite daring to skim across her breast. His fingers catch on the edge of her bra. “Hey. You cheated.”

 

“What?”

 

He grins insolently down at her. “Told you. You only get to wear my sweatshirt if you have nothing on underneath.”

 

Lara Jean flushes. “That’s not in the contract,” she murmurs, unable to stop the silly grin on her face.

 

“Addendum. It’s in a silent addendum.” He kisses her slowly, ardently, and she can feel her toes curl. “Can I come over later? So I can show you how much I’ve missed you?”

 

She nods, silencing him with a soft, drawn out peck on the lips. She can feel him shiver against her, and that knowledge makes her shake, too. She’s experienced want, and need, before. She’s beginning to realize what this thing is, this thing that pulls at her insides, drawing her to him, whether she’s miles away in another state, or right before him, in his arms.

 

Yearning.

 

“Yeah. I’ll text you when they’ve gone to bed.”

 

“Good.” He takes a nip at her ear. “Will you wear this again?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Hey, I was only just ki -“

 

She shakes her head, draws his lower lip between her teeth. “I’m not gonna because I have something much nicer in my bag.” She’d bought it on a whim - what she would’ve worn had he been able to pick her up, red and lace and short and decidedly not something high school Lara Jean would’ve worn, but she’s a college girl now. “Get that grin off your face, Kavinsky.” With great effort, she pulls away. “Come on. I gotta get going on this apple pie.”

 

Peter groans, but then he spots the unfrosted cupcake tier on the counter. “Hey! Can I have one?”

 

-End-

 

 

 

 


End file.
